


this is not untrue

by entremelement



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Brazil, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Pillow Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, dialing up Shoyo in the middle of his Sexy Time, poor unsuspecting Pedro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27530239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entremelement/pseuds/entremelement
Summary: So he’d dropped his gym bag on the floor with a soft thud, and removed his shoes by the door. His socks catch all the small floorboards splinters, and it irritates the soles of his feet, so different from sand. With that, he obliviously pads towards the bedroom. Nothing unusual, he gathers.Even when he hears music playing from his tinny speakers, conspicuously placed in the middle of the foyer. It’s a tiny one he’d purchased off Amazon, the kind of cheap old-radio knock-offs shipped from China with brass paint chipping off of rounded edges. No, nothing suspicious at all.At this point, he thinks he’s convincing himself, rather than stating a plain truth. But he lies to himself far too often to admit this openly.Shoyo and the monster on the bed, making quite a mess of himself in Shoyo's absence.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 8
Kudos: 81





	this is not untrue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello hey heyo Moon is back on her OiHina bull once again, fellas. No (literal) kaiju/monsters involved in this story, homies. Just good ol' porn. I made it just in time for OiHina week! This doesn't fit in any particular prompt for November 13, no, but I would like to belong.

Shoyo didn’t expect it, when he set foot inside his apartment. Not even when his door was slightly ajar, and sunlight was leaking out from his room, this four o’clock loveliness that he misses most days while he’s busy knocking the ball with his knuckles on the beach. It wasn’t so new, and it certainly wasn’t a cause for alarm. 

So he’d dropped his gym bag on the floor with a soft thud, and removed his shoes by the door. His socks catch all the small floorboards splinters, and it irritates the soles of his feet, so different from sand. With that, he obliviously pads towards the bedroom. Nothing unusual, he gathers.

Even when he hears music playing from his tinny speakers, conspicuously placed in the middle of the foyer. It’s a tiny one he’d purchased off Amazon, the kind of cheap old-radio knock-offs shipped from China with brass paint chipping off of rounded edges. No, nothing suspicious at all. 

At this point, he thinks he’s convincing himself, rather than stating a plain truth. But he lies to himself far too often to admit this openly. 

* * *

When he pushes the door open with the tips of his fingers gently, so slightly, Shoyo sees Tooru spread-eagle on the bed they share. He’s buck naked, the vast expanse of his chest sporting a light yellowish sheen from the afternoon golden sun. He’d been playing with himself for a while now, as far as Shoyo can surmise, with the tell-tale crinkle of sheets pushed to the edge of the bed by his heels, a closed fist working an erection up, and thighs quivering with each upward stroke he makes, as if pulsing the orgasm out of him gradually.

He’d stuffed two fingers deep in him with the other hand, knuckles white and all bottomed out. It’s almost as if he’d made a fist, trying to keep himself so still when he curls fingers inside himself, the other hand slick with lube and precum, sliding up and down his shaft. There were far too many pillows underneath him, propping him up when he ruts into his closed fist. 

Tooru hadn’t noticed him by the door, as he’d come so close, so deathly close to his own ruin, whispering Shoyo under his breath and letting unbridled moaning out in time with his strokes. Shoyo, half-hard, whistles at the sight.

“Goddamn, Tooru, couldn’t wait for me to get home?” Shoyo comments, one corner of his lip turning upwards into a smirk. He leans his bicep against the doorjamb, legs crossed so haughtily.

Tooru, flushed red with embarrassment, pulls his hands away from himself so fast, he didn’t have time to think about a retort. “Shoyo-”

“Well, continue. I just gotta-” Shoyo wills himself forward, and Tooru flinches when he approaches. But Shoyo leans to the right to open a drawer hidden underneath the mattress. “Babe, don’t stop on my account, make yourself feel good.” Shoyo breathes down Tooru’s neck, plainly sending goosebumps all over his body. 

Tooru obliges, and he moans so hard when he resumes fingering himself that Shoyo’s brain could barely register it as real. 

He whines some more. “Ah, Shoyo, fuck, want you- want you in m- oh god-” 

“Yeah, babe, let it out. I’ll make good work of you later, damn,” Shoyo says through gritted teeth, the singer’s sweet voice in the background. “And you fucked yourself to _this song_ , too.” When the song crescendos and Tooru’s almost-pained moan tears through the chorus, it’s immaculate, and Shoyo records this in his brain for future use.

Shoyo slides his hand down his loose board shorts, pulling his already stiff dick out, springing out from the fluid motion. His hand still feels coarse with callouses when he pumps, once, twice, and then continuously while he’s trying to search for something. With added friction, he closes his fist tight, trying to hold himself back. Shoyo’s so hard, and incredibly eager to fuck Tooru to oblivion, especially when he looks like _this._

The search was fruitful when Shoyo gasps and brandishes something in his hand. In his haste, it hits the wooden mattress frame as he takes it out. When Tooru trains his eyes on it, he lets out a bewildered gasp in between moans.

“Since when did you..” Tooru stares, hands unstoppable, still. He gapes, aghast at the half-stiff, half-wobbly rubber dildo in Shoyo’s hand, licorice in color and so so sweet, he imagines, when Shoyo presses it in him. “For me?”

At this, Shoyo heaves out a small laugh. He presses a knee onto the bed, crawling nearer and nearer towards Tooru, one hand still occupied with touching himself. Both of them are held captive under a heated spell, and they lock eyes.

“You’re going to..” Shoyo throws the toy on the bed, right in front of Tooru. “Put this in me while I fuck you. Turn it on max.”

* * *

  
  


“Yeah that’s it, Tooru.” Shoyo heartily remarks, removing a hand from his dick, then planting a firm palm right next to Tooru’s thighs as he hovers. Shoyo feels so tall to Tooru, and in his arousal, Tooru bucks so unexpectedly into his own hand. 

“You prepped, baby?” Shoyo’s already peeled his shorts and tank top off, so eager and wanting. So heated and filled to the brim with lust. He swipes his tongue on his lower lip and almost worships the crumbling Tooru before him. 

“Sho- Sh- Hngh-” 

“Shh, shh baby, let’s..” Shoyo dips in between Tooru’s thighs and swats both of his hands, nudging thighs open with his nose. The vibrator is still a looming tangible possibility before them, and it’s left waiting next to Tooru. “Let’s ease you into it, huh?”

Shoyo smirks up at him, eyes boring deep into Tooru. He takes his hand away from his own length, flinching at the lack of touch.

“Babe, you really-” Shoyo sinks a finger in Tooru, who groans in time with the sensation. “You really stretched yourself out.” Tooru whines, and it was all he could do to restrain himself from fucking against slim fingers. Shoyo licks a stripe near his shaft and catches the last bit of lube on his tongue. When Shoyo is unable to remove the gloating in his voice, seeing that Tooru made a mess out of himself in his short absence, the fatal smirk comes back. He maintains his gaze on Tooru’s face when he attempts to drill his tongue in Tooru, along with two fingers.

Tooru, already so stretched, splotches of red present on his skin, found himself wanting more. “I miss- I missed you, Shoyo,” Readjusting his vision, with eyes already wet with forthcoming tears, Tooru whines. He places a firm palm on Shoyo’s head and goads him on, rubbing his scalp with the tips of his fingers before fisting a great deal of hair in his hands. 

Without so much as a warning, Tooru’s other hand reaches for the dildo beside him, twisting the knob at the bottom of the shaft and getting startled by the new vibrations. 

“Fuck me.” There is insistence when Tooru commands it, all dark eyes on Shoyo, feverishly eating him out. He traces Shoyo’s biceps and shoulders with the tip of the dildo, and it feels like a veiled threat when Shoyo’s eyes darken.

“Fuck me, now.”

* * *

Shoyo shudders against the shaft pressed into him, and he gyrates against it, angling his hips back for it to prod against his prostate. “Jesus Chr- Too- ah-” When he sucks in a lungful of air, sharp, Tooru rams it in deeper. 

Tooru struggles underneath Shoyo, head now poised right below Shoyo’s aching cock. How lucky he must feel, then, to have a front-row seat to this unbecoming. With each thrust he makes, the heel of his palm grounding the vibrating shaft deep into Shoyo, the tip of his cock glistens and twitches, and they groan in unison.

The thing with their competitiveness is that they do take it to the bedroom, too. When Shoyo bends down and closes in on Tooru’s dick, he manages to swirl a tongue around the head and flick at the tip. Shoyo takes him in fully and Tooru’s not one to back down from this, even as his thighs quiver and his foot jerks involuntarily. 

Two can play at that game, and Tooru rams the vibrator deep, with Shoyo’s pert ass clenching in resistance, as he, in turn, envelops Shoyo in the cavern of his mouth.

* * *

But then, when Tooru writhes in pleasure, having Shoyo’s warm palm sinking on the small of his back as he's screwed into rolling his eyes so far back he can see his brain for the nth time, Shoyo’s phone vibrates from his gym bag.

“Babe, gotta take this, might be the team.” Shoyo slides his hand down the swell of Tooru’s ass before it grips his own erection as he pulls out. Expectedly, Tooru whines and spasms at the loss, but he keeps his ass raised and chest driven deep into the mattress.

“ _Alô? Pedro! Você chamou? Ah, sim_ _!_ ” 

It shouldn’t worry Tooru, that it’s Pedro. That is, until Shoyo swiftly climbed back on the bed, careful and measured, upright and on his knees. That is, until Shoyo slipped into him with so much ease. It took so much of his willpower to bite back the whine reserved only for Shoyo. 

Tooru can _hear_ Shoyo gloating, completely unrestrained. He dives deeper into madness when Shoyo curls his lithe fingers around his length, pumping at a slower pace than his rutting. They talk about nonsense, and warmth crawls up from the base of his spine to his nape when Shoyo ruthlessly pushes into him, voice still sickeningly sweet as he talks Pedro’s ear off without so much as a stuttered breath.

He shouldn’t take this, he shouldn’t surrender so easily under Shoyo’s touch, burning and measured even as he takes Pedro’s call. So he fights back. Instead of laying around motionlessly, he raises himself up with both palms planted on the mattress, anchoring himself. Tooru turns to Shoyo, craning his neck to sneak a look at him through darkened eyes before pushing against him in time with vicious thrusts. 

It’s worked, it definitely has, because the grip on his length has gotten so much tighter, he almost feels like it’s going to fall off. That, and the way Shoyo sharply inhales and says _meu deus_ in shock, cutting Tooru’s name off, away from Pedro’s static earshot.

“Pedro, listen,” Shoyo gasps in stuttered Japanese, and Tooru knows he’s triumphed this time, biting down on his lower lip and smirking at a flushed Shoyo with his erratic thrusts. “I’ll call you back.” 

As soon as the cellphone lands on the bed, face-down, Shoyo’s rough hands, lube-wet and eager, make their way onto the round of Tooru’s ass. He hisses under his breath, muttering curses in whichever language can find his tongue the fastest. 

* * *

“We’ve been, _ugh_ , horribly competitive today, huh,” Shoyo murmurs against the crook of Tooru’s neck, still gyrating into him in slow circles, withholding both their orgasms for the nth time that day. Tooru, exhausted, lifts his head from the mattress and presses a light peck on Shoyo’s jaw. They’re both dripping in sweat, and the mattress is drenched; it’s definitely seen better days. 

Outside, with blinds drawn up, it's pitch black save for the innominate mixed glow of streetlights and passing cars, and neither of them had made the quick effort of getting up on their feet to switch any of the lights on. 

Tooru contentedly sighs. “Baby, don’t you think it’s time we fucking came? We’ve been at it for hours now. I can’t even see your face anymore.” They both laugh, and Shoyo, warm, places the touch of his hand on Tooru’s ribs, unceasing with his ministrations. 

“I think we’re out of lube, and the battery’s out.” True enough, the vibrator is lifeless on the nightstand, slipped out of Shoyo hours ago. Shoyo presses soft kisses on Tooru’s nape, on that little vertebrae jutting out from under his skin, and trails them on his shoulder, down to the wing bone. “Can I, inside?” Without meaning to, he stiffens inside Tooru in anticipation. 

Like curtains drawn back, Tooru’s face lights up in the dark, and Shoyo could swear that it blindly illuminated the room in that split second. Tooru cranes his neck back and nudges his nose against Shoyo’s jaw, his hot breath lingering on Shoyo’s collarbone. “Of course, baby.”

That was all it took for Shoyo to push both hands on the base of Tooru’s spine, right above the round of his buttocks, and thrust harder, at a much quicker pace, it’s dizzying to them both. Underneath him, Tooru grasps the sheets helplessly and whines Shoyo’s name over and over as Shoyo trails more kisses on the architecture of his back, the bridges that lead to his spine, the streets and channels that dip down from vertebrae to vertebrae. 

Tooru lifts his own hips up and reaches down to stroke his length, irregular in his pace. He involuntarily bucks into his own hand, the unexpected friction of his dry hand leading him closer and closer into climax. He could feel it, every touch on his skin. Tooru falls into it--the press of lips on his back, the sheen of sweat on his skin, and the slick length driving into him. The heat that initially spared him and spread on his back makes its way toward his abdomen, and he knows he’s close. 

They’ve lost track of time, and they certainly could not place a frame of reference on just how long it took to get them both to cum, but it’s almost always simultaneous. It’s Tooru first, messy and whining underneath Shoyo, spilling copious amounts of himself into his hand. He hadn’t had a moment to allow himself to ride it out, because it’s Shoyo that rolls his eyes back next and groans when he pushes himself deep into Tooru. And Tooru could feel it, all of it: the warmth in his abdomen, the heat spreading from where Shoyo had planted himself in him, growing, burning.

* * *

“You know what, fuck you for answering that call and fucking me in the middle of a conversation.” Tooru hurls a pillow towards Shoyo’s face and Shoyo, too tuckered out to evade it, is hit square in the face. They both laugh again, in unison. Tooru’s red splotches on his skin are now gone, and they’re both illumined by the pale moonlight. Shoyo’s jaw is slack, his cheek resting on the mattress when he flips the pillow back in Tooru’s direction.

“But, babe you gotta admit, that was pretty hot.” Shoyo retorts, out of energy. 

Tooru grunts. “Fine, I did get to shove a vibrator in you, that was pretty hot, too. Since when did you have that thing?” 

Shoyo hums and trails darkened eyes on Tooru, exultation ever-present in his tone. “Since I got here, Tooru. Wanted to fuck, had nobody to fuck, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.” He inches closer and pecks an unexpecting Tooru on the nose, and it catches him off-guard. “Still like yours better, though.”

Tooru, flustered, hurls another pillow at him. 

* * *

Both of them are eventually kissed by the first hint of daybreak, as they're tangled and asleep in the sheets. The tinny speakers are still tinny, but be that as it may, it has something going for it when it’s still staying strong and playing tunes after hours. 

Shoyo wakes up first and rubs sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. Squinting through drowsiness, he finds Tooru belly-down on the bed, embracing the pillow his head rests on tightly, as if it’s bound to escape him. His face is wondrous in this light, he thinks, but is too afraid to say it aloud. Instead, he lightly kisses all the bones that jut out from under his skin: on his shoulder, on his nape, on his elbow. 

This needs no convincing this time: Tooru is next to him, bare, sleep-consumed and radiant, and that’s the plain truth.

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes:
> 
> 1\. No playlists this time, but I did listen to these albums as I was writing this fic: [1](https://open.spotify.com/album/5zUDvKAyEKkrhYLWJJWGPQ?si=8cCZLoBVTTCAHTY39kMNYg), [2](https://open.spotify.com/album/5wtE5aLX5r7jOosmPhJhhk?si=LFG1PnPVQY-jOhzM6a9RCQ), [3](https://open.spotify.com/album/0YF8PfcGbsKg5IaFyPnlyY?si=5itC32FISfKVUWClrvEIXw) !
> 
> 2\. _Alô? Pedro! Você chamou? Ah, sim!_ = "Hello? Pedro! You called? Ah, yeah!" Please do tell me if there is a mistranslation there somewhere. I only rely on Google Translate for my brainrot, and might be highly inaccurate. I just want him to answer a call as he's (redacted) the fuck out of Tooru.
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/entremelement/), where you can find me screaming about FE3H, Hades, Haikyuu, Hypnosis Mic, and [cut for length]


End file.
